


Conversion 2

by 5KU115H1P



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Internal Conflict, M/M, One Night Stands, Pokemon Battle, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14183241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5KU115H1P/pseuds/5KU115H1P
Summary: Gladion does what he wants.





	1. Recoil

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains explicit content and sensitive themes. Don't like, don't read.
> 
> I don't claim ownership over any of the characters, setting, etc. This is a hobby project, and not intended to be sold, resold, or profited off of whatsoever. 
> 
> This is my first fanfic. Please be gentle.

Guzma wakes up with approximately the worst headache of his life. Or rather doesn't wake up, since he cant even bring himself to open his eyes. If there wasn't an earthquake in his skull then he would probably be leaving the bed, but there's a warm body pressed against his, and soft hair in his face.

Once he manages to summon the brain power, he wonders who ended up in his bed. Generally he doesn't bother with the complexities of sex. Dealing with jealous, and dramatic grunts was too much of a hassle when he had two perfectly good hands and a bottle of lotion.

If he was in his right mind he would have noticed how the body curled in his arms was alarmingly small, but In his state, he isn't able to. For a while, all he can do is bury his face into the pillow. Once he does manage to peel his eyelids open, he spends a long, tense moment brushing the hair of his bed mate away to unveil their face.

 

 

This morning Guzma is met with something he never wanted to see. A kid covered in hickeys, laying naked, and deflowered in his bed.

 

The kid turns their head to look at him with a sleepy gaze. Like it doesn't matter.

 

He sits bolt upright at the realization of who he spent the night with. He throws a panicked look at the kid and scrambles to his feet. He wildly tangles his fingers in his hair as the disgust rises in his throat like bile.  
"Guzma! What is wrong with you?!"  
He shouts, curling over in mortification. unsure of himself, he glances back at the kid, who's casually propped up on their elbows and looking at the older man. Bad idea. The sight of them stirs up fuzzy memories from the night. 

Unceremoniously, he darts to the bathroom to vomit. He narrowly avoids stepping on a couple gang members passed out on the floor, but that's really the least of his worries. He gets sick. He is sick. This is sick. 

He rests his cheek on the porcelain of the toilet while alcohol vomit, and regret drips from his mouth. He spends a long time running his head under cold water before deciding to return.

When he stumbles back to the bedroom, the kid is pulling on a pair of destroyed pants. He can't help but notice that everything they're wearing is black, skin tight, and shredded. A sad realization hits Guzma.  


"Hey-Hey, you don't have to do this stuff anymore. UHH... I mean, we can take care of you..."  
Its hard to say, but he needs to try doing the right thing, after doing the most wrong thing you can possibly do. He'll never forgive himself for having sex with a kid, but he can at least try to help them out of the hazardous lifestyle they're stuck in. He cringes, and rubs his face in shame.  


"How much-"

"I can take care of myself."  
The kid states assertively, as they pull on their shirt, and finger comb their hair.

Guzma's shoulders droop, and he begins searching for his pants to dig out his wallet. He goes to hand all the money from the bulging leather to the kid, but they just look at him stoically, and fail to take the money. Leaving, and shaking their head on the way out.

 

Guzma is left standing in the room, devastated.


	2. Wish Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not trying to waste your time with the OCs. Just bare with them since I need them to support the main characters. 
> 
> Church for clubbers is a hungover Sunday morning in Denny's, regretting the drugs and sex they had Saturday night.

Koa wakes up to his boss yelling. Normally, he would be at his side in an instant, but the disorientation from his hangover has him truant. He only becomes an obstacle to Guzma, as he rushes past him to make it to the bathroom and puke his guts out.

Koa opts to not follow him. Knowing how insecure he gets around other people when he's sick. Instead he checks the bedroom, looking for a spill, or a broken object.

What he finds is neither of those things. Koa is surprised to learn about the piece of hardcore jail bait climbing out of his boss's bed.

He thinks back to the previous night, and recalls seeing a booty call glued to Guzma after the party. He doesn't realize till morning that the bitch Guzma has been railing into the bed last night, wasn't a bitch at all.

He leaves the open door frame quickly, so he doesn't look like some kind of weirdo. He trips over a passed out Tyler in the hall, and re-prioritizes. He picks his comrade up off the ground, drags him to the kitchen to make him some tea, and revive him. He's a borderline vegetable right now, and Koa wants to make sure he doesn't have brain damage or whatever.

While he waits for the kettle to boil he goes back upstairs so he can brush the jello shooters off his teeth. He tries not to eavesdrop, and fails. Miserably. He gets caught in the act by the boss's lay right as he is leaving. 

 

Its one of the most awkward experiences of his life.

 

After the kid leaves, the boss's room is silent for a long time. He tries and fails to get Tyler to drink some herbal crap they lifted from a hipster tea shop, but he's totally unresponsive. Face down on the counter, and almost falling off the kitchen stool in lethargy.

"Bitch, I saw you drink a whole bottle of vodka last night! You want me to believe you can't drink a cup of tea?"  
Koa argues.

"nuh..."  
Tyler lifts a weak hand to push the tea away.

"I'm seriously concerned for your health here, yo. Hydrate, or i'm calling the doctor over, hoe."  
Koa threatens. Pulling his phone out.

Tyler miraculously sobers instantly at the mention. Sitting up and drinking the tea hurriedly.

"OW! What the fuck?! You trying to burn me, man? That is not what I needed right now!"  
He wipes his mouth, shooting a mean look at Koa. Despite his vitriol, he continues drinking the beverage carefully.

Once Koa starts hearing activity in the boss's bedroom again, he goes up and knocks on the door.

"Guzma, man... Do you want to go get breakfast or something?"  
He tries extending a symbolic hand.

"No."  
He answers, voice scratchy.

"Why not? Maybe it'll make you feel better."  
He tries again.

"Nothing is ever going to make me feel better."  
Hearing those words from Guzma is a surprise. He must be feeling really bad. Understandably.

"Waffles man. Let's go get some waffles."  
He asks.

Guzma is nauseated by the hangover and... the other thing, but he's only mortal. He has to accept that Koa is right. A foodless day won't improve anything.

"Ok."  
He relents. Being the boss doesn't stop his team members from having good suggestions.

 

Koa drives them to a decent breakfast place. Guzma really should thank him, but all he wants is to remain face down on the table, mirroring Tyler. Who is visibly a lot more fucked up than either of them, and probably has a right to be horizontal. 

At some point he is going to have to sit up and eat the plate of waffles delivered to him. AKA face Koa, look him in the eye. Hold a neutral expression as he eats in front of the man who probably saw him banging someone underaged.

"Look, dude. No one wants to get jail baited, it was obviously an accident."  
Koa breaks the silence, he rationalizes for the sake of their boss's mental health.

"It was a mistake, not an accident."  
Guzma corrects.

"Whatever man. Just don't lose it over some kid who wasn't even mad. Yo."  
He shrugs animatedly.

Guzma doesn't want to talk about it any more, at least in public. He halfheartedly eats breakfast with the guys. Nothing is different. His life is the same.

He absently sifts through the memories of the previous night while Koa drives them back home. He has work to do, but he is haunted. Keeps trying to understand how it all happened.


	3. Teeter Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback. Some context. Building action.

Guzma is drunk before he gets to the party. The house is unassuming, and if it weren't for the crowd of people swarmed around the back yard and the explosion of music pouring from the doors, then no one would look twice at it. He laughs and tells Plumeria, over their shared mickey, that it was funny how Po Town's nightclub was the cleanest property of them all.

They descend the backyard stairs and enter directly through the basement door. Bouncers don't bug people like them. Guzma grabs a lit joint right out of a grunt's fingers on the way in. He shares it with Plumeria as they wade into the writhing mass of bodies to drown in the sound. Eventually, she gets her hands on some extacy and places a pill on his tongue.

Guzma is in the middle of finding another drink when he sees a gang member making out with someone in the corner. Normally he wouldn't give a shit, but this time it rubs him the wrong way, and the closer he gets to the scene, the more he wants to put an end to it. He pulls the grunt off the teenager he was pinning to the wall, and slaps him in the face.

"YO WHAT THE FUCK!?"  
His subordinate yells, and tries throw a punch at him in return. However he is significantly more intoxicated than Guzma, and he catches the strike with ease.

"YEAH WHAT THE FUCK?!  
Guzma lets his fist go and gestures wildly at the flushed teen. Who seems to be trying to pull him away from Guzma's wrath. He waves a hand in front of the grunt's face patronizingly.

"O-oh shit. Sorry boss..."  
The grunt stammers, looking genuinely apologetic.

"You should be sorry."  
Guzma gives him the hardest glare he can muster while shitfaced.

"Yo, I-I didn't know she was y-your girlfriend. I-I swear dude."  
The guy holds his hands up in surrender. Guzma is about to give the guy an earful when the kid interrupts, shoving the grunt hard and growling in rage. 

"I'm no one's bitch. Asshole."  
They scowl at the inebriated grunt, and push him away. The grunt looks at the kid in anger and confusion, but backs away and leaves with a rude gesture.

His eyes are glazed over and he staggers on his feet, so Guzma decides to let him go. He looks for the kid, but she? he? has disappeared into the sea of bodies.

He finds another drink and returns to the "dance floor" just in time for his high to kick in. When he meets back up with Plumeria, her pupils are huge, and her jaw is set. But there's a smile on her face, and a hop in her step. A mirror image of himself. They dance for ages, jumping in time with the beat until sweat falls off them. Everything is so bright, he can barely keep track of where he is when the people around him are constantly shifting, and the music rises and falls like the tide.

Then, the ocean parts for just a second, and Guzma sees the kid. They're dancing like he's never seen before. Time slows as Guzma notices how their mouth is moving. Singing. Because they somehow know the lyrics to this obscure, aging, club dance song.

The features Guzma can see through the dark become gradually clearer. Its not until the kid actually touches his chest that he realities the crowd had brought them together by chance. There's no room down here, and the kid's fingers curl into his shirt to anchor themself in the torrent of the party. 

Guzma lets him. Their hand is so warm, and their grip is solid.

They look up at him through their eyelashes, breathing heavy, and GLOWING under the black light. The image is forever freeze framed in his memory by the extacy. After 2 tracks of the kid struggling to stay in place, Guzma gets tired of his dance partner being shoved around, so he brings them closer, brackets them so they can dance in peace.

The bass and the mass of people embrace him, he feels encapsulated in the moment. Whole. Complete. The kid occupies his vision, a literal personification of the music. He is hypnotized. They bounce together until his mouth feels paper dry.

With his companion in tow, he tries to locate some water, sharing it with them when they find a few bottles by the "bar". Guzma promptly crumples into a cuddle puddle in the laundry room. The place to be for an extremely high person, or an extremely passed out person. He doesn't expect the kid to stick with him after their water quest, but they do. Curling up against Guzma while they rest and rehydrate. 

"I'll walk you home. Where are you staying?"  
After some water, he grows enough of a brain to ask.

"Nowhere."  
They shrug.

"The fuck? Seriously?"  
Guzma's head spins.

"I'm serious."  
They answer plainly. It kind of breaks his heart.

"You can crash at my place tonight. There's plenty of room."  
He offers. He doesn't want them to end up in a ditch. They rest their head on his shoulder and hum agreement.

He pulls them to their feet and loops an arm over their shoulders. Guiding them out of the dying basement party, and back home. All the while telling himself that he was protecting them from people who would want to take advantage of an intoxicated teen.

 

 

He was wrong.


	4. Follow Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit content. Please skip It if it makes you uncomfortable.

They wobble back to the mansion together, exhausted and temporarily deaf. The music still ringing in their ears.

The house is humming with activity when they arrive. Bottles and people litter the floor, a couple is fucking on the couch, and several grunts are struggling to play video games through their intoxication. A small group of people are dancing in the dining room.

Guzma approaches the adept phone DJ and unplugs the speaker aux. She looks at him with great sadness in her bloodshot eyes, but he is unmoved.

"Bedtime. I don't care what you do, just make it soundproof."  
Guzma explains. She side eye's the drunk teen leaning against him, but puts her phone away in submission.

He opens one of the many bedrooms on the way upstairs and gestures at it.

"Sleep wherever you want."  
He offers blindly.

"Okay."  
They reply. Guzma nods, and shuffles to his own bed. Satisfied by the confirmation.

He hasn't even been in bed for 5 minutes when the space beside him dips. He abruptly sits up to examine the invader, shocked to see his dance partner crawling into his bed. No one's ever had the balls to do that to him. He chuckles in amusement.

"Huh? Regular bed not good enough for ya?"

"No room."  
They answer, relaxing into the previously empty space. They drag him to lie back down, and press near him dangerously.

Their hand rests on his solar plexus, a warm weight that radiates bliss. He can't help but close his eyes when they start petting his chest.

Their hair cloaks their face. In the dark Guzma can only see slivers of their gaze peering at him from between the pale strands. It feels wrong, but having someone to snuggle is a rarity in his life, and he accepts it.

 

 

The kid crawls into his lap, and he lets them.

 

the kid starts kissing at his throat, and he lets them. 

 

He lies flat, hands gripping at their thighs through the shredded fabric. Happy waves hit him, until it starts going too far.

Guzma turns his head to nibble at the corner of their jaw and suck marks into their neck.

"Oh... oh... oh..."  
They melt, squirming in his lap. The vocal pleasure and pressure makes Guzma's pants start feeling very uncomfortable. He sits up and strokes a large hand down their back. Bending over to bite gently at their exposed collar.

He isn't entirely aware of his erection until his partner is rocking onto it frequently. Their tight motions striving for their pleasure only makes him more aroused. His core turns to steel at a particularly nice rub, and he bucks. Grip like a vice around their hips, driving them together, and trying to slot his aching arousal into the soft space between their legs. The burn of clothes makes Guzma hiss, and the kid shushes him. They tug the waistband of his pants down. trying to free him.

"Whoa... Whoa... I don't- I don't know about this. Are you sure y-"  
Guzma stops their fumbling.

"Yes. I'm sure. Fuck me into the mattress. Make me feel real."  
The kid slides their own pants down, and Guzma isn't entirely surprised by what he sees. A dense moment passes while the kid looks at him critically, judging whether they should have revealed their secret. Guzma can only breathe and wait.

His bed mate rolls onto their back, and shucks their pants, underwear, socks and shoes off all in one motion. Before Guzma can react, they're pressing a condom packet into his hands. They knock off his crooked sunglasses and push Guzma's sweatpants down until his dick springs free.

He hovers over the kid, caught between retreat, and diving in to love bite at the corner of their smile. His bling hangs over them in his vision until he leans to the side and shrugs it off. They paw at his hoodie, and he pulls that off too. The sweat between his shoulder blades pretty much begs him.

lifting one leg to expose themself, they give him bedroom eyes, but Guzma manhandles them onto their front. His stomach is churning from looking at the kid's face.

He was worried that they didn't have pubic hair, but closer inspection reveals plenty. His fingers tangle in thick blond fur, difficult to detect without a brave hand. He runs his fingers along their sex until he finds their arousal. He strokes his thumb beside their clit for a while, trying to see if he can make them wet.

He can. His fingers start passing over their folds easily, and teasing them open is simple from there on. He tries not to think too hard when he tears open the packet and rolls the condom onto his erection fluidly.

"Do it."  
The kid demands. Ice and fire burn through him. While his mind works on how he feels about the request, his hand gathers what slick he can and covers his cock in it. 

Its frightening how easy it is to mount them. How easy it is to align his arousal. How easy it would be to just sink forward. He stops. He is in stasis, caught in the conflict between his mind and his body. Tension winds inside him as his brain tries to catch up and stop him. 

He's painfully held in the precipice. Erection rubbing into their opening, and his spine turning him to jello. His body throbs.

He sinks back on his heels, unsure. Drawing away from the temptation, but they follow him. Leaning back to tease Guzma's swollen erection. They turn their head to talk Guzma into it. Their eyes are haunting and make him feel sick. 

He pushes them back on all fours. He'll give them what they want, so they'll stop looking at him.

Guiding his cock with his hand, he makes false passes over their center. He finds the give of their sex and makes a few shallow attempts at penetration, but the kid starts shaking in his grip. Despite the raw pleasure of sex, the anxiety buzzes through him too much to continue, and he starts going soft. He withdraws and runs a hand up the kid's back.

"Can't do this."  
Guzma admits.

"Why not?"  
The kid rolls onto his side, and looks back at Guzma in confusion.

"No lube. Besides, you're way too-"

"Whatever. Don't stop."  
They cut him off and roll back onto their stomach, they tilt their hips up, just a fraction. Enough to expose themselves and tease. The gesture makes Guzma's breath hitch, and his dick jump.

His eyesight goes weak for a moment, and blood rushes in his ears. He reaches for the lotion next to his bed and wets his cock. He crawls over top of the kid to kiss and suck at their unpierced ear. Their voice breaks when they moan, and it sends shivers down Guzma's spine.

"Keep your legs together."  
He growls. He brackets the kid tightly, and inserts his arousal into their thigh gap. Its an easy compromise. He pulls their bodies tight together so his partner can get enough friction to orgasm.

"Do it again."  
They demand. It takes Guzma a moment to figure out what they mean. The disparity of their sizes mean he has to sharply curl his back to suck on their ear, and mark their neck. His tense core makes his cock jerk and slip from between their legs. Glancing hard off their clit, and jamming against their hot, wet center.

"Ohh ffuck."  
They moan into the pillow. Rocking their hips desperately against the shape of Guzma's dick. A part of Guzma wants to attempt entry again, his face goes hot and he sees stars when he works in a stray inch, but just as he is shoehorning his cockhead in, his brain starts screaming at him.

He slides himself comfortably between the kid's legs. This way, he can fuck without the massive block of doom hanging in his peripheral.

"Come on!"  
His partner calls out in frustration. Shifting and panting.

"I'm getting there."  
He breathes into the kid's hair.

"Please."  
They beg. Its so genuine, but it can't move Guzma to try again. He's too close, and the sensation of precome is enough of a warning against intercourse. Even with protection he isn't going to take that risk. Hot waves of pleasure start washing up his body, and its not long before he fills the condom.

The kid is squirming, unsatisfied, and crushed into the bed by Guzma's weight. They groan and complain.

"Shhh. I've got you."  
He consoles them by drooling over his fingers, and gently inserting one into their tight sex. He crooks it against their G spot, and rubs them into a shivering mess in only a handful of seconds. No dick required.

When he curls his digit just right, they moan into the sheets, and their whole body goes tense. He gives them another and fucks them like that until they buck and climax.

Guzma is quick to roll away, not wanting to squish them in his lethargy. He has just enough energy to peel off the condom, tie it, and throw it in the approximate area of the trash. His bed mate is still rocked with orgasm when he loses consciousness.


	5. Close Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter.

Guzma tries not to think about it. No one mentions it to him after he and Koa talk. Once the smell fades from his bed, he can pretend nothing happened. Then the next weekend had to come and haze the field.

Unfortunately, he finds the kid again in the same place, at the same time, doing the same thing. At least this time Guzma is relatively sober. He wanted to spend another Saturday night partying with Plumeria, but just sticks to a few beers to play it safe. He's still too angry with himself, and the previous weekend continues to hang above his head.

He shrugs the kid off when they approach him this time. He needs to make a clear boundary, he just wants to dance, and by the look of it, they do too, but Guzma isn't interested in being near them again. That is, until later, when he is on his way out for some air. As he makes his way to the back door he spots a big dude pinning them to a wall, roughly necking them... And Guzma can't fucking stand it.

 

He yanks the man off of them and receives a gut punch from hell. The guy isn't a team member so he's probably going to have to throw down, but it's no problem. Guzma wants an excuse to vent his rage.

He laughs off the blow and bolts forward, clothes lining the dude and working him into a headlock. He busts his knuckles on his brow, and struggles to take the bigger man down. Everyone around them vacates the area, not wanting to get crushed by two large, violent men.

His opponent grips his throat, squeezing. He lands a couple hard blows into Guzma's kidney which makes him groan. He presses his weight down onto the other man, and despite his larger size, he isn't able to support him and they both topple to the floor.

He struggles for a hold on the guy, slamming his bleeding fist into his solar plexus while the larger man tries to choke him. Once Guzma starts getting the upper hand and gets his feet under him, his opponent opens a poké ball. 

 

A Tauros appears in the little available space, confused and disoriented by the overwhelming atmosphere. He stamps his hooves, swinging his horns around in frustration and almost goring Guzma in the confusion. 

 

He sees the tip of a horn catch on his t shirt before a force behind pulls him away from imminent impalement.

 

He recovers quickly and turns to see who grabbed him. His mouth falls open when he discovers who saved his life. The kid still has a handful of his hoodie bunched in their white knuckled grip when he looks down and meets their eyes. Guzma gazes in surprise as he stumbles into them. Pushed together by the crowd as everyone else in the area the jumps on the big dude, wrestling his poké ball from his hands so they can return the Tauros. No one wants to die tonight because of someone else's stupid decision.

Guzma points at the man as a grunt bitch slaps him.

"OUTSIDE! NOW!"  
His tone is unrelenting, and can even be heard over the DJ's questionable taste in music.

 

 

The battle beside the fire pit gathers many of the club goers to watch. Most of the people who are sober enough filter outside with the commotion, and leave clear a space in the back property.

"STEP OFF! I'm not another one of your bitches!"  
He challenges at Guzma from across the clearing.

"This is my fucking town though. Know your place and GTFO!"  
Guzma flips him off to the raucous cheers of his gang members. Club music thumps in the background, patiently waiting for them to begin.

The guy leads with a Garchomp like an asshole. Masquerain eats him for breakfast, punishing his hubris with a sick Ice beam while the Garchomp is boosting. Guzma is blessed with an OHKO so clean he could earn a monthly token from Narcotics Anonymous with it.

The crowd has to scramble away from the area when his opponent releases a huge Gyarados. Guzma sees the stone edge before it happens, switching Masquerain for Scizor. The only pokémon he has that can tank a rock type move. This is when his opponent really screws up. The mega stone is a mistake. Without it, Guzma would have to switch to Vikavolt to deal real damage to his Gyarados. This guy's over compensation is destroying him. Guzma and Scizor both laugh when his X-scissor connects and seriously damages their opponent.

He is forced to withdraw his mega.

The Talonflame makes Guzma cringe. He has to decide if they're going to use a fire type move on his Scizor, or brave bird his switch.

If he switches for no reason he ends up in the hell washing machine, commonly known as brave bird. He can't afford it, and decides to risk Scizor and chip away at Talonflame with night slash, baiting out the flare blitz.

Turns out the guy had half a brain and predicted a switch. His Talonflame brave birds into Scizor, expecting someone else. The mind games prove too much for his opponent as he uses flare blitz against Guzma's last second Golisopod switch.

Golisopod couldn't take a brave bird strike confidently, but resists flare blitz. Guzma just had to figure out when to get him onto the field. Waterfall ruins their day, drenching Talonflame and removing them from battle.

The guy falls to his knees, defeated. He still has a Tauros and two unused pokémon hanging onto his belt, but a pokémon battle is a psychological war as much as it is a physical fight. He doesn't even have to ask the team skull members to kick the guy out of town, they do it all on their own. Laughing at him, and rubbing salt in his wounds on the way out.

 

When Guzma turns around he isn't expecting to walk directly into the kid, but that's what happens. Since life is a bitch.

"So... Are we going to do this every weekend now or?"  
They shrug at him, and make his face burn.

"No. Fuck. Look Yo- You don't have to work like this."  
Guzma suggests, concerned for the young person before him. He knows what its like, treading water in a frothing ocean that wants to eat you. When you couldn't tell up from down, even just to breathe, how were you supposed to make educated decisions about yourself.

"I'm not a prostitute."  
They clarify sternly. The words make Guzma feel... Happy. Disgusting, but happy.

"Then you're telling me you're banging random old people-"

"Because I want to."  
They insist.

"Good- UH... I mean. Arceus. If you need work, there's plenty of stuff you can do around here."  
He cant argue with their logic. He rubs his face in embarrassment.

"Okay."  
They answer cryptically. Guzma isn't sure if they smile, but their expression is softer than their usual stoic baseline.

Now he's disabled, normally Guzma would give a recruit the phone number for his burner, but the situation between them is too weird for that. So he pauses to think of a different solution. They stand in front of each other while the crowd dissipates. Muted music from the house winds its way through the air. The moment only gets progressively more awkward, and Guzma walks past them to leave, but he is stopped by a quick hand. They're barely holding onto him, but he is WEAK. So god damn weak. He turns back toward the disheveled teen.

"How do you battle like that?"  
They ask him genuinely.

"Like what? The sharpest motherfucker around?"  
Guzma flashes his teeth as he praises himself. Really, he knows what they're referring to. He considers himself talented, but he isn't ever able to describe his techniques.

"How did you know what to do with the Talonflame?"  
They have stars in their eyes, and Guzma feels indebted to them, so he tries.

"Experience I guess. I had to see the best option from my opponent's point of view. Besides, I've been really fucked up by that shit before, so its kind of like incentive not to fuck up."  
Guzma tilts his head while he tries to find the right words. The answer doesn't seem to satisfy the pale teen, but they don't press for more.

"What kind of pokémon do you have?"  
He prods. He shouldn't. He needs to stop making this kid's life his business. He needs to stop asking questions he might not want to know the answers to. Because when they leave Guzma hanging, it only makes him more concerned.

Like right now.

Guzma assumes the worst as they go tight lipped. He knows they have a pokémon, everyone does. Like a creep, he notes the distinct shape on a poké ball in their satchel. The fact that they dont want to talk about their own monster tells him that the critter is either very hurt, very sick, or very old.

Pokémon were necessary, and often powerful partners, but like anything alive, they can fail to thrive. Bringing hardship to those struggling to support them.

"We have a doctor, y'know."  
Guzma tries to offer. Overburdened pokémon centers can't always fix serious problems. In his opinion, someone without a monster has a death wish. Especially a kid sleeping around with strangers.

"Hm...That's nice."  
they reply and start walking back to the party.

He wants to say something, but it would just come off wrong. They look back at him once they've gone a few steps, they seem to wait for him, but Guzma is rooted in place. From the corner of his eye he sees Plumeria approaching, and he withdraws from the deteriorating conversation so she doesn't catch him in such an awkward way.

She loops an arm around his shoulders and offers him a drag of her partially finished cigarette. Generally he isn't a smoker, he only takes it because he doesn't want to follow the kid back inside. He tries not to look at them as they disappear into the people loitering by the back stairs.

"Watch out. You'll get burned."  
She pokes him in his bruised side.

"What? I'll bet you ¥5000 that douche bag isn't coming back here after i beat him into the dirt like that."  
He grins, trying to handle the conversation before it goes in a direction he doesn't want to deal with.

"You know what I'm talking about."  
she narrows her eyes, not falling for the deflection.

He doesn't want to assume she knows, so he just raises his eyebrows.

"Short, blonde, and spicy."  
she provides, pointing her thumb back in the direction of the crowded steps.

"Tch! I don't want anything to do with the kid."  
Guzma rolls his eyes.

"You and I both know that's a bone cold lie."  
She shakes her head and plucks the dwindling cigarette back from between his chapped lips. He didn't want her (or anyone else) to find out about what happened, but shes too perceptive and well informed to miss something as crazy as Guzma falling for jail bait. He closes his eyes in frustration, but she doesn't mention it again. Instead she starts dragging him back inside to endure the monotonous builds and drops infesting the music scene.


	6. Battery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some gang violence here.

Guzma finds a mysterious slip of paper in his pocket during the middle of a gang fight. He's digging around for his Scizor switch when it ends up in his hand.

He doesn't have time to care about it because Tyler is struggling beside him. He has a poison majority, and their opponent has a heavy hitting Hypno.

He needs to step up, or else Tyler's whole team is going to get deleted, and Guzma will have to deal with the other two gangsters alone.

Scizor enters Tyler's battle just in time to resist the psyshock for his Haunter. The only thing on Tyler's team that isn't affected by their other opponents sweeping Muk, and their unusual ground type moves.

These guys are bad news, a foreign gang operating in Ula ula like this needs to be stomped out fast. He doesn't tolerate other gangs in his territory. Especially not gangs that exploit women, and hoard money in offshore accounts.

It's a very raw and real destruction of their community. Now Guzma doesn't consider himself a good kind of person, but at least he isn't going to leave his home in ruins, hoarding wealth. He sees the effect on the most vulnerable people, and It makes his blood boil.

 

He wants retribution.

 

Scizor's xscissor lands on the Hypno. Effectively removing their opponent after managing to handle the psychic strike intended for Haunter. Entering another trainer's battle in such a fashion is a taboo condemned by just about everyone, but Guzma could give less of a fuck.

He lets Tyler handle the rest. withdrawing his pokémon to concentrate on his own double battle. Unfortunately his momentary distraction left his Ariados and Vikavolt unable to fight. With almost half his team toast, that leaves his Pinsir and Golisopod to deal with the Tentacruel and Fearow ahead of him.

Upturned tables and furniture, along with the minimal space inside the basement gambling hall makes for a treacherous battling environment. Pinsir's stone edge connects with the light overhead before his opponents Fearow, darkening the area and showering everyone in glass.

 

Once the pokémon are out of the way he rushes the alleged leader, and slams him up against the wall.

His crew try to attack him but Tyler kicks in one guy's knee, and hip throws the chick.

His opponent dribbles tears and saliva when he lands a fist into the middle of their chest. Winding them.

"Talk."

"Why- HHh... Would I talk to a filthy damn- beast?"  
He spits in Guzma's face, and tries to kick him.

 

"This is why."  
Guzma snarls, and drags the guy's body into his knee several times. He hammers his elbow into the scumbag's face and feels the crack of his nose breaking. A spray of blood wets his shirt and outlines each of his opponents teeth as he growls at him.

Justified vengeance burns within Guzma as he proceeds to beat him half to death. He gets bitten, choked, and kicked in the balls, but he's too far gone to care. The snap of fury drives him to frightening places sometimes.

"Get off my fucking island, I won't tell you this again. You're pokémon food next time I catch you in my domain."  
Guzma spits on the guy in return when he drops him to the ground.

 

When he refocuses, Tyler has already started wrecking the place. Guzma joins in, still thrumming with adrenaline. He helps break the gambling tables, the windows, the bar, and the sound system. They take back the assets on site and steal the alcohol on the way out, almost as an afterthought, piling whatever they could into the truck, and leaving.

 

 

He finds the note again when he does a head count of their pokémon. He investigates it on the ride out of Maile.

10 lonely red digits are scrawled and smudged into a chunk of lined paper. Though its unlabeled, he instantly detects who the gentle penmanship belongs to.

Guzma doesn't remember getting handed the phone number, and he was sober enough to win a serious battle that night. So the kid must have slipped it into his clothes when he wasn't looking. 

 

He doesn't do anything with it, but he feels it burn his fingers every time he reaches into his pocket to grab his phone.

 

He throws it away several times over the week. Each time, regret bubbles inside him and he ends up sifting through the garbage to find it again. The lonely numbers stare accusatory at him when he holds it in his hands, and longingly at him in his memory.

 

He caves and calls the number only once. One day while in the vehicle bay of a cruize ferry, his boredom and failing impulse control makes for a sad situation. Alone in the truck, he listens to a long series of rings that end with a click for an answering machine. An eerie mimicry of his own burner phone. He doesn't leave a message, and he doesn't call again, resolving to throw it away for good.

He can't justify holding onto the number of a minor(that he had sex with) less then half his age. Anything he could conceivably come up with just makes him feel like a predator. He can't keep it, can't keep putting himself in situations where he will inevitably fail, and subsequently beat himself up over it. He knows he can't keep it because it makes him imagine what their voice would have sounded like on the phone. Makes him wonder what they would have talked about. So the dangerous little thing in his pocket needs to go.

 

When the kid doesn't show up the next Saturday night, Guzma drunkenly digs through the garbage to find it. Plumeria sits on his chair, laughing at him while he sifts through the floor trash and upsets the precarious stacks of bottles.

she has a fading glow stick hanging around her neck and a bottle of beer lazily between her fingers. They're still winding down after enduring a whole set, neither of them can hear very well, and they're both sticky.

"Whats so important that you have to rearrange your recycling?"  
she asks.

"Its nothing."  
He doesn't want to explain himself to her.

"How wasted??? How wasted are you that you been looking for nothing for an hour?"  
She criticizes. 

"Okay, its not nothing."  
Guzma isn't sober enough for a good excuse. 

"Well then, what is it?"  
She prods.

"Whatever. Take a guess."  
Fuck it. He doesn't have to explain himself to her.

"Ass."  
She states without hesitation.

"No!"  
He looks back at her, scandalized. He's never been a slut.

"Bitch stop feeding me lies. You can't pull the wool over my eyes. You think i don't see the little piece of ass climbing you like a tree."  
He's digging under the bed so he doesn't see the look on her face but he can distinctly hear the disappointed expression she's sporting.

He chokes.

"You lost the phone number didn't you?"  
She teases.

"The fuck? Are you seriously stalking me?"  
He sits up and looks at her in confusion.

"I was there numbskull! I saw it happen!"  
She throws a dirty sock at him, pelting him in the face. He slouches where he sits, feeling defeated. All his closest allies know about his jail bait adventure. His very missing and vulnerable jail bait adventure.

"Do you know where it is?"  
He sighs, resigning himself to admitting his sins, and asking for help.

"Of course not."  
She snickers, gesturing to the cluttered room. It makes him feel nihilistic about the whole conversation.

"Okay. Whatever. I'm ready to pass out."  
He proceeds to ignore the mess he's made and surrender his body to the bed. She doesn't say anything for a while, and he tries not to think about it too hard. He knows he's being judged. He should be.

"Are you sure you want to find it?"  
She asks, after the long silence.

"Shut up."  
He mumbles into the mattress. Either because he doesn't know the answer, or because he doesn't want to talk to her about the answer. He isn't entirely sure which it is, but not talking seemed like a good idea for the time being.

 

The battered corner of paper shows up tucked in his laptop the next morning.

 

He runs his thumb over it, and wonders how many times he has to abuse it until it crumbles and he can absolve himself of all perceived obligation to it.


End file.
